So sorta semi-TIL post. For men, smoking cigarettes causes epigenetic changes which means (as I understand it) that the DNA damage caused by smoking is passed on to their children. The male sperm is damaged from the effects of smoking. There is a ‘significant’ chance of it causing “developmental disorders” which includes autism, ADHD and intellectual disability.
Honestly, search for the articles yourself, there are many and it’s an interesting rabbit hole. I do question how long this has been known to the cigarette companies who conduct their own research.
The UK has banned smoking cigarettes for under 16s for a reason. Making such a huge policy change like that must be for a very damaging reason. NZ did too, but pussied out - presumably from the lobbying.
So I just wanted to touch base and ask who has a father who smokes / used to smoke regardless of whether you’ve been officially diagnosed or think you may be autistic?
EDIT: I actually expected lots of downvotes for this post. There’s a great film called “Thank you for smoking” which everyone should watch.
My father smoked for quite some years, but he started after I was born. This is irrelevant for the purposes of this conversation, but it gives me a chance to repeat yet again a story and a decision he made that I immensely respect him for.
Once he divorced my mom, nobody in his circle smoked except him and my grandfather. So as these things go he would frequently find himself outside, alone, sucking down yet another coffin nail. When we were at family gatherings I’d often go outside with him and chew on my toothpick, just so he wouldn’t be out there alone.
One day we were outside at my grandfather’s, missing some portion of the yearly Christmas party. Both of us out there in the dark, in the freezing cold, with snow falling all around us and disappearing outside the tiny cone of light from the front porch light. Not even grandpa wanted to be out there with us. We could just barely hear the revelry going on inside, but it was quiet enough outside that the snow hitting the ground was audible.
My father took a contemplative puff, about halfway through the length of his cigarette.
Out of the blue he said, “Why the fuck am I doing this?” This stuck with me, because he didn’t cuss around me much.
I looked at him. He looked at me. Then he threw that cigarette out into the snow and never smoked again.
Just like that.